


Learning to Adapt to Changes in Play

by VampireSpider



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Animal Transformation, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 17:11:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/981469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampireSpider/pseuds/VampireSpider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Paul watches, the cat lifts a paw, licks it delicately and runs it up through the tuft, making it stand up between its ears, a look of concentration on its face and – it’s ridiculous, it’s fucking impossible, but Paul knows that movement.</p>
<p>“James?” he says, feeling stupid.</p>
<p>//</p>
<p>Or: Paul is a dog person. James is a cat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning to Adapt to Changes in Play

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [Opusculasedfera](http://archiveofourown.org/users/opusculasedfera) for betaing and encouraging me to post. Any remaining errors or Britishisms are my fault. Also thank you to G for audiencing and helping with some cat-related enquiries.
> 
> This fic wouldn't exist without [Bellaphant](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellaphant/pseuds/Bellaphant) enabling and cheerleading me. That basically makes it her fault.

Paul finds the cat on his doorstep. He almost trips over it, but it doesn’t seem to mind, twisting between his legs and butting its head against his calf. He can hear it purring. Cats, as a rule, don’t like Paul, some cat-sense telling them that he’s more of a dog person, but apparently this cat does not have it. He finds himself staring dumbly at it as it settles down, butt firmly planted on his shoes and looks up at him. 

“Uh,” he says, looking down at it. “Hi?” It’s not a huge cat, but it’s clearly not a kitten, brown and grey with a strange tuft of hair sticking up between its ears. It doesn’t indicate that it heard Paul, just purrs louder, and Paul sighs. He doesn’t have time for this. 

The cat makes an almost comically disgruntled noise when Paul moves, but it follows him across the road to James’ house, bumping against his legs while he tries to walk. He wonders vaguely where its owners are – there are plenty of cats in the area, even if they usually stay away from Paul, and he has other things to think about.

James was supposed to come over for breakfast, but he hasn’t showed. Paul has assumed he’d overslept for the first hour; James had stayed out later than him last night, and it wouldn’t be the first time. The month or so before he starts training with Roberts, James tends to indulge his lazy side. He’s two hours late, though, which is excessive even for James, and – worryingly – he’s not answering his phone. Short of an act of God, James’ phone is always within arm’s reach. 

Paul has considered the possibility that James had picked up last night; when Paul left, James was flirting with the bartender. But Paul had been – is still – pretty sure there hadn’t been any intent behind it; James hasn’t picked up for couple of months, sticking close to Paul when they go out, and Paul is almost certain he hasn’t misread the signs, was pretty sure they were heading towards – but maybe he’s wrong. 

It’s not a big deal right now, anyway. The important thing at the moment is to find out where James is, make sure he is okay and then, once that has been determined, chirp him about his inability to get places on time.

James’ house is dark. Paul pushes the bell and waits, then pushes it again for longer, cat leaning against his legs and purring like a tiny fuzzy motor. If he wakes James up, _good._ Paul’s starting to tip from mostly annoyed to mostly worried – there’s no sign of anyone here. What if he’s picked up and gotten robbed, or picked up and gotten tied up, or, fuck, Paul doesn’t know – kidnapped? 

Paul takes a deep breath, and common sense returns. Most likely, James’ phone has run out of battery. He rings the doorbell again. When there’s still no response, he gets his key out and lets himself into the house. He’s never actually used it before, he thinks inconsequentially, looking into James’ empty-seeming house.

The cat runs in ahead of him, but Paul can’t be bothered to chase it right now – he’ll find James and then figure out what is up with the cat. 

There’s no response to his shouting, not that he’d really expected any, so he makes his way up to James’ bedroom. It’s empty, but James’ clothes from the club last night are on the floor and fuck, Paul has no idea what’s going on, because his phone is there, sticking out of his pocket. 

There’s a small noise, and Paul turns around – it’s the cat, sitting in front of James’ full-length mirror. While Paul watches, the cat lifts a paw, licks it delicately and runs it up through the tuft, making it stand up between its ears, a look of concentration on its face and – it’s ridiculous, it’s fucking impossible, but Paul _knows_ that movement.

“James?” he says, feeling stupid.

The cat turns to look at him, glances back into the mirror and then bounds over, twisting between his legs and purring again, and fuck. Paul sits down heavily on the bed, unsurprised when the cat – possibly James? – leaps up next to him. It kneads its paws into his legs before settling down, head resting on Paul’s thigh. 

“James?” he says again, and the cat looks up. Right. He’s not exactly sure how to confirm his suspicions – if it is James, how much can he even understand right now? Paul shakes his head; he can’t believe he’s seriously considering this. “What kind of idiot turns into a cat?” he asks, and then yelps as the cat – okay, probably definitely James – digs its claws into his leg. “Yeah, okay, sorry,” he says and the cat looks up at him for a long moment. He lifts his hand and runs a finger very carefully along its back, watching the way its eyes close. It starts purring again, settling back down. Paul breathes in through his nose once.

“James?” he says just to check, and sure enough, the cat looks up and blinks at him, even as it leans into his hand. “Right. Any idea how to turn you back?” The cat digs its claws in again, a little gentler this time, but Paul still shifts away. “Right,” he repeats. “We need to find a better way for you to stay no.” James doesn’t say anything – because _he’s a cat_ , and Paul needs another moment to breathe slowly – but he settles down again, curling up against Paul’s thigh and purrs happily. At least, Paul thinks slightly hysterically, he doesn’t seem distressed.  
*  
Eventually he decides to go back to his house – James’ always makes him feel slightly despairing, it’s so empty and grey. And if nothing else, he still hasn’t eaten breakfast and neither, he guesses, has James. 

For a moment, he wonders if James is going to want to stay in his house, but James follows eagerly enough when Paul heads out, staying close and rubbing against Paul’s legs as he locks up the house, and really, Paul’s not sure why he’s surprised. James seems to prefer Paul’s house even as a human.

James runs ahead over the road, pacing in front of Paul’s door. “Impatient,” Paul says, as James bumps his head against the door. “So that hasn’t changed. Probably want food.” That earns him a headbutt, but Paul’s pretty sure it’s affectionate. “Cat chirping, huh?” he says, opening the door. James ignores him in favour of going into the house, bounding up the stairs and even that’s pretty similar to human-James, enough to make Paul have to stop again and wonder what the hell his life has become. But it doesn’t last long; he can hear James making odd yowling noises at the top of the stairs. That’s a call for breakfast if he’s ever heard one.

He’s not really sure what cats are allowed to eat, but he figures they’re carnivores, he can’t go too wrong with meat, a suspicion confirmed by the way James leaps up on to the kitchen counter, making a beeline for the defrosting turkey bacon. He looks from it to Paul and back, making a mewling noise that Paul is almost certain is the equivalent of his human whining when he thinks Paul isn’t cooking fast enough. Paul finds himself grinning down at him. 

“You’re bossy even as a cat,” he informs James, who stops mewling for a moment to slit his eyes at Paul – it doesn’t look familiar, exactly, but Paul can translate the look into the expression James would normally have on. Weird, he thinks while he gets his phone out and double checks that cats can eat turkey. They can and he chops up four slices, putting them in a small bowl. James moves to sit on the counter near his usual seat and Paul wonders briefly if he should be training him to stay off the tables – but James isn’t actually a cat and Paul refuses to think he’s going to stay that way, so he puts the meat onto a plate and puts it in front of James. James rubs his back against the back of his hand as he puts it down, which probably translates as thank you.

“Yeah, yeah,” Paul says, as James tucks in. “Bet you didn’t even think to eat before changing into a cat.” James doesn’t respond. 

He fries up his own bacon and makes toast and coffee as James eats. As soon as James is done, he pads over to the coffee maker, looking from it to Paul and purring in a way Paul thinks is hopeful. He shakes his head at the cat. 

“No caffeine for kitties,” he says. “You can have as much coffee as you want once you turn back into a human.” James growls and Paul is pretty sure it’s supposed to be threatening, but mostly it’s just kind of sweet. Paul pours himself a cup of coffee, and uses the mug to hide his expression. James growls again, stalking over to Paul and sitting next to him, demonstrably not touching him as he cleans his paws and pats at the tuft between his ears. Paul can’t help it, he smiles down at James and reaches out to ruffle the little tuft of hair. “You’d change back if you could, yeah?” he says, and James purrs, headbutting Paul’s hand, which is probably agreement.

Fuck, though. That means it’s on Paul to solve this.  
*  
After breakfast, he grabs his laptop and settles in the living room, googling animal transformation. He doesn’t actively encourage James to come with him or anything, but he’s relieved when he does; James might still be in there, but Paul doesn’t trust that the cat-part isn’t going to scratch up his furniture. 

However, at the moment James seems content to curl up next to Paul, his head against Paul’s thigh, purring softly while Paul scrolls down the pages of search results. If he ignores the fact that James is a cat and the underlying sense of panic he’s trying not to notice, it’s not that different from their normal days together – apart from the lack of reality TV on in the background. He looks down at James, about to ask whether he wants to watch anything, but James’ eyes are closed; he looks like he’s asleep. Paul doesn’t want to disturb him – turning into a cat must be stressful, he thinks, despite how easily James seems to have taken to it. Instead he runs a careful hand along James’ back, petting softly, amused to see James snuggle closer – and that’s new too, James doesn’t normally have his head in Paul’s lap.

Paul removes his hand and decides not to think about that.

The internet is frustratingly low on answers, Paul concludes after an hour. Various permutations of the words ‘animal’, ‘transformation’, ‘change’ and ‘cat’ return results on fairy tales, Egyptian religion, one deeply fucking weird site on body modification which is going to haunt him, and a lot of results on witches. 

Next to him, James stirs, pushing his paws out as he stretches. “Haven’t pissed off any witches recently, have you?” Paul asks. James just looks at him and Paul grimaces. “Yeah, guess that would be too easy.” He scratches James behind the ears and is rewarded with a happy-sounding purr as James pushes into his hand, and okay, no, that’s a little weird – he doesn’t even like cats, isn’t charmed by them, and this is _James_. When he moves his hand, though, James makes a small discontented noise and bats at his hand, trying to catch it.

Paul watches him for a long moment, and takes another deep breath. Maybe he should call James’ mom – maybe this isn’t the first time it’s happened. Fuck, James is supposed to head up the day after tomorrow – what if he hasn’t turned back? Paul can’t keep it hidden forever, and he can’t take him to Minnesota. “Gonna have to change back soon,” he tells James, who doesn’t even stop playing with Paul’s hand to dignify that with a response. “No, no, don’t worry about it. I’m sure I can find a solution on my own,” he says, feeling a little crazy speaking to a cat, but maybe James just responds better to sarcasm, because he stops playing to headbutt Paul’s hip in what is possibly meant to be a reassuring manner. It doesn’t entirely work, but he scratches behind James’ ear anyway; at least that’s doing something.

*

James is still a cat three hours later. He stalks around Paul’s backyard slowly, occasionally glancing back at Paul, but mostly he seems to be happy enough entertaining himself out there. Paul’s pretty sure he manages to use the facilities as well which is good – Paul doesn’t want to have to buy cat litter, that feels too much like committing to James being a cat. He sips his coffee and thinks; he keeps coming back to the fairy tales, to the idea that there’s some sort of point to this – if James can solve some sort of puzzle or learn some sort of lesson, then he’ll turn back into a human. The only problem with the theory is that he doesn’t have any reason to think it’s any truer than James getting cursed by a witch. 

He also doesn’t have the first idea how to teach James any lessons when he’s a cat. Maybe it would have been easier if James were a dog, he thinks, and as if James can hear his thoughts, he bounds over to press against Paul’s legs. Paul’s pretty sure he’s imagining any indignant edge to his purr.

“Don’t worry,” he says, crouching down to stroke James, messing up his fur, “you’re perfectly fine as a cat.” James swishes his tail and puts a paw on Paul’s knee. Paul smiles down and adds, “that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be working on turning back.” He doesn’t know if James is actually listening to him. He so rarely does.

James goes back to playing in the garden. It’s strange watching him – even in cat-form, he seems recognisably James, the way he turns his head, his paws when he stops to sort the tuft out, the way he bounds around, large, eager movements which are still perfectly controlled. Paul doesn’t know how much of that is the dynamics of human-to-cat transformation, and how much of it is him expecting to see James in the cat. It’s a pretty pointless line of thinking, and it’s only going to lead to him thinking about how much he’s going to miss James again this summer – how he misses James now, even if he is technically here. He’d been hoping – he’d thought maybe they’d work out whatever was happening between them before going back for the summer; Paul’s almost certain he hasn’t been imagining the way James leans into his touches more now, since the lockout, the way James gazes occasionally lingers too long. The way he’s stopped looking away when Paul catches him. 

It’s been an unexpected bonus to a pretty good season, end of playoffs none-withstanding. A slow-burning one which they have yet to actually discuss. Paul watches James run around the yard, and wonders whether the cat-thing has anything to do with that. He can’t think what it would, though; they’ve been good, even if James had been acting weird last night, a little standoffish and distant. 

It’s not worth thinking about, though, not now. Not when James is currently a cat, and there are bigger things to worry about. Like what he’s going to say to his family when he ends up having to cat-sit James over the summer instead of going home.  
*

After the extended garden visit – which ends when James takes an undignified tumble trying to chase a pigeon and decides to recover his pride by padding back into the house, tail swishing indignantly – they curl up on the couch again. 

This time, James climbs fully into Paul’s lap, which should be weird – which is weird – but Paul decides that it’s probably okay today. It does mean that James has easy access to the strip of skin where Paul’s tee-shirt has ridden up, and he presses his claws lightly against it when Paul tries to leave them on a nature documentary. A warning, Paul’s pretty sure, and he would shove James off, but he’s not sure how fragile cats really are. And, if he’s honest, the heavy warmth of him is oddly nice – a little familiar from other days spent on the couch, although usually leaning against James, rather than with him curled up on his lap. 

In the end, he finds a baseball game and pulls his tee-shirt down, and they watch in relative quiet, only broken when Paul has a particularly key point to make. It’s jarring not having James’ feedback, even if that usually only amounts to either agreement or an occasional shrug. The cat does its best, but its shoulders aren’t really made for shrugging. 

The Pirates are down 3-5, players on second and third, when the doorbell rings. Paul’s not expecting anyone; he tells James to stay put and goes to open the door, mostly hoping it’s Jehovah’s Witnesses, or something equally easy to deal with.

It isn’t – instead it’s Geno standing on his doorstep and looking worried. “Uh, hello?” Paul says.

“Hi Pauly,” Geno says easily enough, but he looks over Paul’s shoulder. “Nealsy here? Supposed to meet up before I go to Russia, but not answering my calls.”

“Uh,” Paul says again, and of course that’s when James comes running around the corner, skittering to a halt between Paul’s legs. He looks up at Geno for a moment, and then he’s moving again, rushing forward to knock into Geno’s legs. Geno looks thrilled, crouching down to fuss at James’ head. 

“Not know you have cat,” Geno says and then says to the cat, “Pauly keep you secret, hey? Silly, you friendly cat.” The latter is hard to deny, with the way that James is purring, leaning into Geno’s confident petting, and Paul squashes down the slight surge of irritation that rises at how easily James goes to Geno. It’s not like they aren’t close when they’re both human. “Cat have name?” Geno asks.

Paul sighs. “James,” he says and Geno’s head snaps up. “That’s James, that’s why he’s not answering his phone.”

Geno looks at him for a long minute. “Bad prank,” he says. “Not funny.” Paul shrugs, but James seems to take offense, because Geno yelps as he’s caught out by a paw. “Bad cat,” he says looking back down, but James doesn’t flinch, just looks back at Geno steadily. 

He tilts his head and makes a plaintive sound, and Paul sort of recognises it from games, when James has scored off Geno’s assist – it’s not exactly the same, obviously, but unnaturally close, very un-cat-like. Geno must recognise it too, because he blinks and says, “What did you do?” Paul assumes he’s addressing the cat, who doesn’t say anything, just purrs and headbutts Geno’s hand. Geno grins and pets him. 

“Guess you not know, eh Lazy?” he says. “Silly kitty.”

“You are taking this a lot better than I did,” Paul admits. Geno grins up at him.

“I like cats, is easier for me.”

“Not sure liking cats makes you more capable of dealing with freaky magical transformations,” Paul says sceptically.

Geno shrugs. “In tune with animals, understand them,” he says and Paul’s not sure whether he’s joking or whether there’s something to that. He considers briefly asking Geno to take James – Geno’s had a cat, Geno would know what to do – but it feels too much like shrugging off his responsibilities. He found James, he’s going to fix this. Somehow. 

“Also,” Geno says, “rumors in Russian camp. Not know if true or just teasing, but it happen. People go through things, freak out, deal with things weirdly.”

Paul stares at him incredulously. “No,” he says. “People dye their hair, or get ill-advised tattoos” – that earns him a hiss from James – “or fuck the wrong people. They don’t turn into cats.”

Geno shrugs again, scratching James behind the ears. “James change into cat,” he says. 

Paul doesn’t really have an answer for that. Instead he sighs. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance something happened at the bar last night after I left?”

Geno looks at him a little oddly. “James left about twenty minutes after you. Feel – what’s word? – awkward, maybe. Bartender offer him number, he not take.” Paul forces himself not to react, even though it’s – not a relief, exactly, that James didn’t take the number. More like satisfying, maybe.

“Long shot,” he says, “Was hoping maybe someone had cursed him or done something equally obvious.”

“Curse?” Geno says, laughing. “Is not frog. Just cat for a while, hopefully not too long.”

There’s not really anything else to say about that, then, but now Geno’s here, Paul kind of wants him to stay – it’s nice to have someone else interact with James, confirm that he’s not crazy, so he offers to make coffee. Geno accepts and Paul heads to the kitchen to start the maker. 

A few seconds later, James pads in and Paul is pretty sure he’s trying to be casual, loping slowly towards ‘his’ chair, and looking back to see whether Geno’s following him. 

Geno comes in a little after, glancing at James and then to Paul, fiddling with the coffeemaker and trying not to watch James. “James not want to be left.”

“James is hoping for food,” Paul corrects, but when James crawls onto the counter, Paul reaches out to pet him. He purrs happily.

Geno looks at him and Paul might not know Geno as well as James does, but even he can see him actively deciding not to chirp. Instead, Geno says, “You buy cat food yet?”

“Been feeding him meat,” Paul says, shrugging. Geno nods, which is kind of comforting.

“Get fat in the long run,” Geno says. “Have some of Dixi’s stuff left, can bring over.” Paul’s pretty sure Dixi died a while back, but he doesn’t comment on it – speaking about her still makes Geno look a little sad. 

“Thanks, Geno,” he says. “Coffee first, though.” Geno nods. James swishes his tail, looking between them. He mewls and Geno grins.

“Cat want coffee too,” he says.

“James knows the rule,” Paul says, leaning over to scratch between James’ ears. James doesn’t purr, but Paul’s pretty sure he’s not actually annoyed. He makes a mental note to give him a little more bacon later, though. After Geno’s left and can’t actually chirp him.

*  
Hanging out with Geno and James normally means Paul gets to sit back and listen to them chirp each other or their surprisingly in-depth discussions about the reality shows Paul only watches when James manages to wrest control of the remote. It’s strange to spend time with Geno without that background noise, even if James-as-a-cat provides a distraction, wandering between the two of them and crawling all over the sofa.

“You rip it, you’re replacing it,” Paul says, as James clambers up the back of the sofa. James makes a small cat-noise and decides to curl onto Paul’s shoulder, balancing awkwardly there. He’s not touching the couch, though, Paul will give him that.

“Very patient with cat,” Geno says, “thought you not like?” Paul shrugs.

“Used to taking care of James,” he says; James makes a noise somewhere between a sneeze and a mewl, drawing away from Paul, which is odd – it’s a pretty standard chirp. 

Geno looks between them and lets the comment go, picking up the thread of their conversation. “Not sure about Olympic camp in Russia – know it will happen, don’t know when. Russian hockey ask us to come, other plans don’t matter.”

“Pretty much the same for the American camp, I think,” Paul says. “Waiting to know if you even get called up is kind of a pain, though.” James butts his head against Paul’s cheek.

“Think James saying is worth it,” Geno says, smiling. Paul grins at him, and strokes along James’ back. The vibrations of James’ purrs feel weird against his neck.

*  
Geno comes back with a cat bed, litter, some dry food and a catnip mouse. James goes crazy for the mouse, batting it around on the floor. It is, Paul thinks, the most he’s acted like an actual cat all day, ignoring Paul and Geno in favour of playing with the mouse, tail curling as he jumps on it.

“James make cute cat,” Geno says. “Can’t wait to chirp about this.”

“If he turns back,” Paul says, surprised at how worried he sounds, how tired. Geno looks away from James to meet Paul’s eyes.

“Will turn back,” he says. “Can’t play hockey like this, and then will miss cute cat.” Geno’s expression turns sly. “Unless think James cuter as human.” Paul can’t help it, he laughs.

“You’re a dick, Geno,” he says and Geno just grins smugly. 

“Not wrong, though,” he says and Paul shrugs. “Is all right. James turn back soon, I am sure.”

Paul wishes he had Geno’s confidence.

*  
Geno heads out before it gets too late. He doesn’t offer to take James, and Paul vaguely wonders why, but he’s mostly glad – he doesn’t really have any reason to say no to that. 

“Thanks for the cat stuff,” Paul says. “I know James appreciates it.”

“Cats strange,” Geno says. “Important for them to feel like belong, even if they go wandering.” Before Paul can ask what that’s supposed to mean, Geno’s crouching down to talk to James. “Turn back before I go to Russia, okay kitty?” James mewls, rubbing against Geno’s hand and putting a paw on his knee. 

For a moment, Paul’s sure James is going to follow Geno when he leaves, but he doesn’t. Instead he bumps Geno’s leg and then pads over to Paul, leaning against his legs as Geno heads off. They stand there a moment longer than they need to. It’s kind of nice, even if Paul feels ridiculously tired.

“You want to go out while I figure out what I’m doing about dinner?” Paul asks. James rubs against his legs, which isn’t really an answer, so Paul opens the back door before heading to the kitchen. James doesn’t follow immediately, but Paul’s not surprised when he slinks in shortly after he’s made the decision to just order takeout, having set out dry cat food (and turkey bacon on the side) for James. He wants a beer, but all things considered, he’s not sure it’s the best idea.

James comes over and headbutts his ankle briefly before bounding over to his food. Paul watches him, feeling fond and at the same time missing James. It’s stupid – they are not actually co-dependent, and a lot of the time James talks too much, hogs the TV to watch his terrible shows and expects Paul to cook him food. But Paul likes all those things, or at least, has gotten used to them. Had hoped to be getting more. And now he misses them. 

He shakes himself, gets up and gets a Gatorade from the fridge. He’s being morose. It’s probably just that he’s hungry. 

*  
After he’s eaten, James wanders over to where Paul’s sitting at the kitchen counter, reading the crime novel he had been saving for the flight to Minnesota. For a moment, he thinks James is going to want attention, but James looks from the book to Paul’s face, flicks his tail at Paul’s wrist and then settles down on the stool next to Paul. Paul watches as he fixes the tuft of hair, that oddly familiar look of concentration on his little cat face. Once that’s sorted to his satisfaction, he curls up, going to sleep, as far as Paul can tell, though he’s making contented purring noises.

Paul should try the internet again; should probably call James’ parents and ask; should try to think of how to turn James back. But he’s tired, and James is warm next to him – the purr isn’t the familiar sound of James’ breathing or small talk, but it’s nice enough. After dinner, he tells himself, he’ll get back to it. Until then, he pets James and reads. The plot isn’t riveting, but it’s interesting enough that he’s occupied until the doorbell rings.

The food’s good and James keeps trying to steal the lamb from Paul’s green curry, which he does as a human too, although the claws give the cat version of James an advantage. “Gonna get sick,” he says, even as he lets James have a piece. “You throw up, I will bill you for any cleaning.” James just flicks his tail and looks at him, as if he knows that that’s not true. Paul ignores him in favour of finishing his food. 

Almost as soon as Paul’s finished eating, James runs out of the kitchen. A few minutes pass while Paul loads the dishwasher, and James pads back in, batting at Paul’s jeans. It takes a moment to figure out what he wants, and then Pauly grins. “TV, huh?” he asks, and gets a headbutt, which seems to be agreement. “You can wait a moment,” he says, finishing throwing the takeout in the trashcan. James yowls his disagreement, and Paul kicks out lightly, intentionally missing. It sends James skittering out anyway.

In the living room, he finds James sitting mournfully next to the remote, looking from it to the TV. He hisses when he sees Paul, but then flicks his tail, tilting his head, and Paul’s pretty sure that’s supposed to be a grin. Nonetheless, he leaves the TV on TLC, James’ favourite channel, as an apology. It’s clearly accepted – after about ten minutes, James jumps up onto the couch next to Paul. At first he sits at some distance, head held high and focused on the TV, but by the end of the first episode of a Say Yes to the Dress marathon, he’s stretched out next to Paul, close enough that Paul can feel the brush of fur as James breathes. 

Even as a cat, James is fascinated by the TV, and Paul finds himself getting caught up as well – as usual. He’s not even aware that he’s stroking James again until he feels James shift, back pressing up into Paul’s fingers. Paul’s always been careful about how much he touches others, particularly team mates – years of practice from when he first started realising that the way he looked at guys wasn’t the way everyone else in the locker room looked at them. Stroking James isn’t like that, of course – it’s nothing to guard against, because James is a cat, because James doesn’t seem to mind it, presses into his touch. Paul tries not to think about whether James would do that once he’d turned back – James touches easily, wraps arms around Paul’s shoulders when they’re out, leans on him when he’s drunk, and Paul touches James more than he touches most people.

It’s been different since the lockout; there’s been more intent behind it. They’ve been spending fewer nights out, more at home, and Paul knows he’s been less careful, less guarded – he’s certainly more comfortable with James than he’s been with any one in a long time. Wants him more, too. He looks at the cat, leaning comfortably against him, and thinks about how he was waiting for him this morning, how James chose to stay with him rather than Geno. But then he thinks about last night, the way James had been flirting, the abrupt way he had said goodbye – the way he hadn’t exactly avoided Paul, but had spent more time than he had in a while talking to the other guys. Paul wonders if maybe he’s been reading too much into everything, or if it’s been leftover post-lockout euphoria, the happiness that came with playing well, with the team working. It’s not worth worrying about, though, not now. Not until James is human again. 

After two episodes of the show, Paul finds himself losing interest. James is still watching fascinated, ears twitching every once in a while, and his tail swishing when something particularly interesting happens on the screen. He makes a small protesting noise when Paul shifts away, though Paul suspects that has more to do with loss of something to lean against than any particular concern about Paul not returning. He settles down easily enough when Paul comes back with his laptop.

Google still refuses to give him anything practically useful, but on the tenth and eleventh pages, he finds rumours of similar instances – one website suggests werewolf DNA, another argues that people who can change species are related to fairies and pixies, both theories Paul finds mildly ludicrous, but the sites do list examples of people changing, usually involuntarily, into animals. He’s slightly reassured by the fact that all the examples listed seem to have ended which the person transforming back into human. It’s still not useful for solving James’ particular problem. 

“Tomorrow,” he says out loud, “I am calling your parents.” James makes an odd noise, and when Paul looks down, James is looking up at him, staring unblinkingly. Paul isn’t sure what he wants, but he looks back, smiles a little. “It’s going to be okay, James.” James purrs in reply, rubbing his head against Paul’s thigh. 

*  
Paul sets up the cat bed in his living room, near the litter box, although he lets James out for another romp before heading upstairs. James takes a look at the cat bed, sniffs at it once and then stalks off to the couch. It’s not even surprising, Paul thinks. If anything, Paul would have expected him to try to take over his usual spare room. 

He expects to lie awake for a while, thinking about James, but he drops off almost as soon as he’s in bed, exhausted from a day of cat-sitting. He sleeps steadily, without dreaming, until the sound wakes him at gone two am. It’s not yowling, exactly – it’s more plaintive than that, questioning rather than demanding. When he opens the door and looks down at James, James flicks his tail hesitantly. 

“Fine,” Paul says, blinking sleepily. “Come in.” James doesn’t need another invitation, padding in and crawling up onto the bed, settling on the left pillow, the one Paul doesn’t use. Paul lies down carefully beside him, too tired to really think about anything. “You know,” he says, closing his eyes, “if you wanted in my bed, there are easier ways to get there.” The last thing he feels before falling asleep is a soft, furry head butting against his shoulder  
*

When Paul wakes up, he’s almost immediately aware of another body in the bed, warm and solid along his side, not touching, but close.

“You’re not a cat,” he says, without opening his eyes. There’s a shift in the bed as James moves slightly further away. 

“Yeah, I –“ James says, breaking off, and when Paul opens his eyes, James’ hair is sticking up and he has a hand on the back of his neck. He looks familiar. He looks like himself and Paul swallows around the sudden rush of relief and affection he feels, unable to stop smiling at James. “- you’re not pissed,” James says then, smiling hesitantly back.

“You’re not a _cat_ ,” Paul repeats, vaguely thinking that this should feel stranger, lying in bed with James like this, just looking at him, but yesterday James was a cat. This just feels good. “Why would I be pissed?”

“You prefer dogs,” James says and Paul can’t help the huff of laughter.

“I’m assuming you didn’t have a say in what kind of animal you turned into?” he says, meeting James’ eyes in time to catch the way they widen. And then James is shifting further backwards, a little clumsy. He wobbles and Paul reaches a hand out to steady him, catching his hip. He takes a shallow breath and leaves his hand there. “Please tell me you didn’t turn into a cat on purpose,” he says, trying for stern, but distracted by the way James is biting his lip, the warm, sharp curve of his hip under Paul’s hand. 

James opens his mouth, and then shuts it again, looking down at Paul’s hand on him. Paul can’t help noticing that James, the human version of him, doesn’t lean in as easily, doesn’t press against his hand like the cat. He has a pretty good idea of what that means, and he takes his hand off James, turning onto his back. Right.

“I didn’t mean to turn into a cat,” James says after a long moment. “I – fuck, I don’t know what happened.” Paul doesn’t have to turn his head to know that James is smiling sort of ruefully, but he does anyway, taking in James’ ridiculous face, the slight (cat-like) tilt of his head off the bed. When he meets James’ eyes, James’ grin widens. Paul’s confused, but the relief hasn’t completely faded yet and so he grins back, can’t help himself, and he’s still smiling when James kisses him for the first time. 

It’s a clumsy kiss, their mouths not quite fitting against each other, but Paul turns onto his side, shifts, and they slide together, James’ hand coming up to cradle his shoulder. Paul leans into it.

*  
They kiss for a while, lazily and without intent. Eventually, though, James breaks away. “Coffee,” he says, leaning forward to kiss Paul again quickly. “You promised coffee when I turned back.”

Paul laughs. He follows James downstairs, letting James set up the coffee-maker. It’s sort of striking, how strange it feels to have him back properly – and how normal it feels to be able to come up behind him, press a kiss against James’ neck as he reaches past him for the bread. James’ breath hitches a little and Paul grins.

“You should call Geno,” he says eventually. “He was worried.”

“Hm,” James says, but he looks amused. “Pretty sure he’s going to be disappointed I’m no longer a cat.” 

That’s probably not actually accurate, but Paul nods anyway. They eat quietly for a while, James quickly inhaling one cup of coffee and going back for a second. Paul lets him sit down and then asks, “How much do you remember?”

James settles down on his stool, shrugging. “Most of it. It was mostly – I could understand what you were saying, but my instincts were different, like the cat-part was controlling how I responded.” He squints for a moment, looking confused. “I guess, kind of like reflexes and stuff. Less restrained, if that makes sense?”

“Not really,” Paul says, “But about as much sense as turning into a cat was ever going to. You sure you don’t know why?” The way James ducks his head and scratches at the back of his neck seems to suggest otherwise, confirming something that’s been niggling at the back of Paul’s mind. He takes a sip of his coffee, eyes solidly on James, waiting him out. James can be hesitant, but he’s rarely actively evasive. Sure enough, James looks at him, lips slightly parted and sighs.

“I don’t know what caused it, exactly,” he says and Paul inclines his head. “But yeah, I can kind of guess why.”

“To do with the bar?” Paul guesses, and reaches out to grab James’ wrist when he leans back, eyes wide. “Hey, it’s – it’s okay.” The thing is, Paul thinks suddenly, is that they need to talk about this, about the change in their relationship. It’s just that, for so long, they’ve mostly known where they have each other, trusted each other implicitly. It’s something he probably should have thought about as their relationship shifted, but it had seemed easy. Like an extension of their friendship.

“I was freaking out,” James says after a moment, looking at Paul’s hand on his wrist. “The season’s over and – it’s not that I don’t want us to – for this to happen.” He meets Paul’s eyes and Paul smiles, stroking a thumb over James’ wrist. “I guess it’s just that you seem settled. Stable. And I – I still like flirting and getting stupidly drunk and I don’t care about what my living room looks like.” He swallows and Paul – doesn’t really know what to say.

He clears his throat and says, “So you freaked out because of things I already know about you?” 

“No,” James says and then seems to reconsider. “Well, yes, but there’s a difference between knowing those things about a friend and then someone you’re, you know, in a relationship with.” He swallows. “I thought maybe you’d get – I don’t know. Like, you’d want someone more stable, someone more like you.”

It is a fucking stupid thought, but given everything that had happened, maybe – “Because I’m a dog person?” Paul asks and is unsurprised when James nods. He kind of wants to slap him upside the head, or chirp him about that being James’ way of categorizing people, but mostly he wants to laugh. James seems to pick up on it, because he grins at Paul, shrugging like he does when he’s embarrassed, but not letting himself seem fussed.

“Okay, yeah, I’m not saying it makes sense,” he says, “and I want to point out again that I didn’t choose to become a cat.” He leans forward, still smiling, to kiss Paul briefly, before settling back. Paul blinks a little.

“So being a cat changed your mind?” Paul asks.

“Well,” James says, shrugging even as he grins at Paul. “I guess if you can put up with me when I’m a cat, maybe I was freaking out more than I needed to.” His hand twists in Paul’s loose grip, shifting until they’re holding hands. “You liked me even as a cat.”

Which isn’t a lie, but Paul’s put up with James with the flu, with a concussion, having a dry scoring spell, and at least as a cat he wasn’t whining. Still, James is grinning at him like what he’s said makes perfect sense, and fuck, Paul’s not going to talk him out of being okay with them dating or whatever. Instead, he gives him his most deadpan look. “I’m not sure being a cat actually solves your any of your _many_ issues,” he says, although he’s not entirely surprised that James thinks it solved this particular one and even less surprised at how fond that makes him feel.

James grins at him, squeezing his hand before letting go and sliding his chair closer to Paul’s – a strange echo of last night’s dinner, except this time, when Paul reaches out to press a hand against James’ back, he’s warm and human under Paul’s hand. James leans across and kisses him, hot and a little dirty as he licks across Paul’s lips. Paul’s hand clenches in his t-shirt.

“Maybe not solves them,” James says, pulling away. “But cats have a good sense of perspective.” James’ smile is soft and a little sarcastic. 

“Your cat sense says I’m a good bet?” Paul asks, not entirely sure what the correct emotion is for that sort of revelation. James laughs at him, pushing him slightly with his shoulder.

“No, I knew you were a good bet,” James says. “But I don’t know. It was like the cat-part knew you’d accept me, you know? That you were home.”

Paul doesn’t know, exactly, but he doesn’t really care either – he leans over and kisses James, slow and thorough and with intent, trying to tell him that’s being ridiculous, that he’s sorry for not saying something earlier, that James had better never turn into a cat again. James kisses back like he gets it.  
*

A few months later, settling back into Paul’s house after the off-season, James making noises about needing to buy socks because he can’t find any matching pairs, Paul stumbles over the cat bed. He’d put it away after the ‘incident’, meaning to give it back to Geno but never getting around to it. He looks at it for a long moment, grinning at the thought of James as a cat, stubborn and playful and ridiculous. 

Hands settle on his hips and when he looks at James, James is frowning at the cat bed. “Didn’t know you still had it,” he says. Paul shrugs, leaning back into James. “You thinking about getting a pet?”

“I don’t know,” Paul says, trying to sound thoughtful. “You were a very cute cat.” James makes an indignant noise – he’s had to put up with chirping from Geno as well as from Paul about how cute he was, how fluffy. Paul leans up to press his mouth against James’ jaw, not exactly an apology, but enough that James smiles, looking fond as opposed to insulted.

“Nah,” he says. “We should get a dog.”

**Author's Note:**

> Any comments/feedback appreciated!


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